


The Impossible Art of Fearlessness

by stephenrogers (Sarahj7)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Mostly Platonic, technically clintasha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2015-04-20
Packaged: 2018-03-24 23:38:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3788575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarahj7/pseuds/stephenrogers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short little story about how a little love can go a long way. I know that's so cliche, but I really don't know how else to summarize this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Impossible Art of Fearlessness

Fearless is what they liked to call her. But of course Natasha had fears. No one is truly fearless. Due to her traumatic past of brainwashing, conditioning, mind control, Natasha feared manipulation. She feared one of her own strongest traits. Getting into other people’s heads was easy, guiltless, even fun, but she was crippled by the fear that one day someone else may get into hers. And maybe manipulating shouldn’t be guiltless for her. Why shouldn’t she feel guilty subjecting someone to the exact thing that was one of her greatest fears.

Natasha also feared getting attached to people. She’d done it before and she’d do it again, but she hated it. Commitment, attachment, friendship, relationships, loss is inevitable. People die, people leave, people change, each of these scenarios resulting in Natasha’s loss. Natasha hated losing. Natasha, of course, was put into a situation where it was near impossible not to get attached. She was put on a team. Didn’t they know she worked better alone? Didn’t they know that she didn’t like to get along with others? Of course they knew that, they just didn’t know why. They thought she was stubborn, hateful. They didn’t know that she was scared.

Natasha’s fears resulted in nightmares. Waking up screaming, sweat soaked, hopelessly tugging on the cuff that she had the key to in her drawer. Then she was scared to go back to sleep. She was also scared of nightmares. She was scared of nightmares because she was scared of their contents. Nightmares were a second hand fear. Not a fear of the nightmares necessarily, but the things they contained.

Natasha could never go back to sleep after a nightmare. She’d undo her cuff and begin her routine. No matter what time of the morning she was violently awakened, her routine would start the same way. She’d pull her mat out of the closet and do an hour of yoga. Then flat on her stomach, pushups, two minutes. Back, situps, three minutes. Down to the gym, kickboxing, ten minutes, five minutes breakfast, ten more minutes. From the gym she’d do an hour of whatever exercise she felt like that morning, as long as she was exercising she didn’t mind. Then she’d do it back, ten minutes kickboxing, another breakfast, ten more minutes. Three minutes sit ups, two minutes pushups, one hour yoga, thirty minutes savasana. By then the rest of her team was usually waking up. She’d shower, clean up, climb into pajamas. Act as she just woke up even though everyone knew she’d been up for hours.

Then there was Clint. She was mad at Clint, he threw a wrench in her routine. When she’d wake up screaming and sweating and tugging and Clint would wrap her in his arms and kiss her head and sing to her. He lulled her back to sleep. She was mad. Sometimes she would trick him. She would pretend to fall asleep but once he had stirred back to sleep she would undo her cuff and do her routine downstairs. She would be back in bed before he awoke, even though she knew he knew she had left.

Clint tried to get Natasha to give up the cuff once. Convinced her to go to sleep just one night with it off. That night, the nightmares came quicker, more violent. He never asked her to sleep without it again. He didn’t understand, but he didn’t need to. Her comfort always came first. Clint learned quickly that he shouldn’t mess with the way she slept. It was dangerous mostly for her, but also for him being the one sleeping beside her.

The two of them sleeping together didn’t happen gradually. It happened all at once. One night when Clint heard Natasha screaming he climbed into bed with her to soothe her, and from then on they just started the night together. There was nothing sexual, not even romantic. Of course there were kisses on the head and hugs and massages, but it was only for comfort.

After a couple weeks Clint moved all of his stuff into Natasha’s room. Together they converted Clint’s old room into a gym for Natasha to do her routine in when she couldn’t get back to sleep. Clint thought it ridiculous that she would have to go all the way to the downstairs gym so she wouldn’t wake him.

Natasha really should have been grateful. She wasn’t though. He messed up her routine, she could feel herself slinking out of shape every day that she didn’t do it. She knew he was trying to help her but in the back of her mind she really didn’t want the help. She also knew that she had let it go on too long to end it. She knew if she stopped it now that Clint would be consumed by the guilt of no longer being able to help her. He wouldn’t be able to sleep in his own room knowing that any second Natasha could let out her screams of pain and darken the now permanent bruise that resides on her wrist. She wasn’t grateful, but at least she was honoured that Clint would let himself be awakened by screaming and sweating and violence every night, just because he thought he was helping her.

Clint did it for himself too. As much as he knew that Natasha needed his help, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he left her alone at night. He did it for the satisfaction, for the good feeling of volunteering. But she did need his help. What he did for her really was beneficial. Everyone could tell when it was a day after Clint had soothed her back to sleep. Those extra couple hours of rest gave her so much more energy, and not physical energy but emotional energy. The energy she had allowed her to smile, it allowed her to laugh, it allowed her to lose herself in moments of joy, and reflect on the happy times instead of the terrible.

When she hadn’t slept she was grumpy. She was distant. She was harsh. In helping Natasha, Clint made it so he wasn’t subject to her tired rage. He loved happy Natasha. He loved her so much. He loved grumpy Natasha too, but it took more effort. Grumpy Natasha was so much harder to love. He would smile at her and she wouldn’t smile back. He would tell her a joke and she would barely laugh. He would do things for her like buy her a snack and she wouldn’t even thank him. Underslept, grumpy Natasha didn’t have enough energy to be pleasant.

And Natasha was so much sexier when she was happy. Her smile would light up the room, her laugh was contagious, the way she sat was so much more inviting; arms by her side instead of crossed in front of her.

Even after weeks, Natasha had trouble getting comfortable in bed when Clint was with her. She didn’t want to be vulnerable, didn’t want to open herself up, didn’t want to get too close. She would sleep as far away from Clint on the bed as she possibly could. It was one night, after maybe two months, that Clint knew Natasha loved him too. Clint awoke after a night that he knew he had managed to get Natasha back to sleep, and her free arm was wrapped over his chest. Her legs were intertwined with his and her head was on his shoulder. That was the night too, that Natasha realised she really was grateful. The changes in Natasha were gradual, at the beginning she would only get back to sleep one or two nights a week, but after that one night, often she wouldn’t even wake up. From then on, Natasha’s morning routine was in the past, after a few more months the nightmares stopped entirely, but most importantly she was no longer afraid of attachment. She realised that her attachment to Clint was the most important part of her life, and she should’ve been terrified. It should have scared her to her core to be so dependent on another. But deep in her heart she knew Clint wasn’t going anywhere, and if that was the case, how could she be scared?


End file.
